Cabiri turned his head and spat. “Local fishermen, I suspect, recruited by Kaczmarczyk.”
“Perhaps.” Bennacio turned from the bodies and stared at the burning plane, and the light of the fire danced in his gray eyes.
“We cannot stay here, Bennacio,” Cabiri said. “More will come when Kaczmarczyk fails to report. Many more, I fear, than the four of us can manage.” Actually, five of us stood there, but I guess Cabiri wasn’t counting me. “Come, my house is not far from here. You may rest and we will decide our course.”
“Our pilot Derieux is dead,” Bennacio said. “Even if we can find another plane, we have no one to fly it.”
Cabiri placed one of his large hands on Bennacio’s shoulder. “Come, Lord Bennacio,” he said softly. His eyes were filled with tears, though his tone was jovial. “A hot meal, a warm bed, and things will look brighter in the morning.”
He glanced at the other two guys. “And there is someone who would very much like to see you.”
27
We left the bodies lying there. Bennacio covered the faces of the men he did not recognize, but left Kaczmarczyk’s exposed to the rain. I wasn’t sure why, but thought maybe he was getting at something symbolical.
We climbed into the Suburban. We left the Jaguar sitting on the runway and nobody said anything about it.
Bennacio, me, and the guy with the bazooka, Jules, sat in the back of the Suburban, with Cabiri and the other brown-robed guy, Milo, up front. Jules had a funny smell, like black liquorish, and a very long nose with a turned-under tip. Milo had long blond hair that he wore in a ponytail, and piercing blue eyes, like Windimar’s. Thinking of Windimar reminded me of the painful fact that I wasn’t Windimar, but Alfred Kropp, and I had no business hanging with these bazooka-wielding warriors.
We drove in silence for a few minutes, then Cabiri said, “The outsiders stormed Mogart’s keep in Játiva yesterday. Of course, they found nothing.”
“Where is Mogart?” Bennacio asked.
Cabiri shook his head. “I don’t know. We’ve heard nothing, Lord Bennacio.”
His whole attitude toward Bennacio was tender and respectful, like it was a great honor just to be around him. If he had known I was responsible for this whole mess, he probably would have directed Jules to take me out with the bazooka.
“And now there is no way to cross the Atlantic,” Bennacio went on.
“They closed the border and yet you crossed. Do not despair, Lord Bennacio. I know you loathe them, but I see no choice now. We must use what tools we have.”
Bennacio sighed. “I will consider it.”
I wondered who Bennacio loathed.
“Who are the outsiders?” I asked. “OIPEP?”
“OIPEP!” Cabiri sneered, and he made a spitting sound.
“What is OIPEP anyway?” I asked. “The best I could come up with was ‘Operatives Investigating Powerful Evil Persons.’ ”
“Ha ha!” Cabiri shouted. “You have found a witty one, Lord Bennacio!”
Nobody said anything for the rest of the drive, which lasted about thirty minutes. We ended up in this little hamlet with Cape Cod–type houses lining these narrow, twisty streets. It might have been Halifax or it might not; I didn’t know how big a town Halifax was or how far it was from the airstrip.
We went inside a house painted blue with white shutters. There was a fire snapping and popping in the fireplace and kerosene lamps set on tables, and I wondered why they didn’t have electricity. Maybe these servants of the Sword had to operate on a tight budget. But Bennacio handed that guy a blank check from Samson Industries. Maybe the knights had an expense account but the Friends didn’t. Or maybe it was a lifestyle choice, like those reenactors you see on TV.
“We are safe here, Lord Bennacio,” Cabiri said. “At least for a few hours. Jules, find Lord Bennacio something to eat.” He didn’t tell Jules to find me something to eat. “Milo, tell her Lord Bennacio has arrived.” He smiled at Bennacio. “She has been quite concerned.”
Bennacio didn’t answer. He sank into the chair closest to the fire and pressed his fingertips against his eyelids. I didn’t know what to do with myself, so I sat on a stool next to Bennacio and wished I had some dry socks; the bottoms of my feet were starting to itch. I wondered if it would be rude to take off my shoes.
Cabiri slipped off his brown robe. Underneath he wore a flannel shirt and Wrangler jeans. He had short-cropped, very curly hair, like a poodle. He looked like the guy on the Brawny paper towels.
Jules carried in a tray loaded down with smoked salmon, big chunks of cheese, bundles of fat grapes, and lumps of little black greasy-looking balls on thin crackers that I guessed was caviar. I had never tasted caviar and didn’t want to try anything new on an empty stomach, so I helped myself to some salmon and cheese. The grapes were good, with very tight skin, so when I bit into one the juice exploded in my mouth. Jules left and came back with a bottle of wine and some glasses, but I’m not a wine drinker, so I ate a lot of grapes for their juice. Maybe they’d have the cash for electricity, I thought, if they didn’t blow it on caviar and expensive French wine. Cabiri was a big guy like me with an appetite to match, and between us the tray didn’t stay full for long.
“You must call them,” Cabiri told Bennacio.
“The thought galls me,” Bennacio answered.
Just then a girl came into the room, and Cabiri got up and Jules got up and so I got up, and all the crumbs in my lap fell on the throw rug. She was tall, almost six feet, barefoot, wearing a sleeveless green dress that trailed the floor. Her auburn hair was pulled back from her face and her pale skin glowed in the firelight. She was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen.
She went directly to Bennacio, who stood up as she came toward him, and she took his hand and kissed it, then pressed it against her cheek. “My lord,” she said softly.
He touched her cheek with his free hand and said, “Natalia, you should not be here.”
“Nor should you,” she said.
He was turned three-quarters from the firelight, so his face was in shadow and I couldn’t see his expression when he said, “I have no choice,” but he sounded sad, the same way he’d sounded when he said “Our doom is upon us” back in Knoxville.
He turned toward me and said, “This is Alfred Kropp.”